Hearing Mia's words, the Holy Light in Lovene's palm paused slightly.
“Don't do that.”
She softened her voice, as if afraid of scaring the little girl in front of her.
Mia took a step forward and frowned.
“Your Highness, they are saying in the taverns that you wanted to harm Dorothy, that you are using black magic to bewitch the people, and that you are a fraud. Which of those accusations isn't enough?”
Lovene finally looked up.
Her face was as pale as paper, her lips had only a faint trace of color, and her breath was exceptionally weak. Yet, there was no anger or grievance in her eyes—only an indescribable quiet gentleness.
“Mia, rumors are like fire. The more you try to douse them, the hotter they burn.”
She stroked the little girl's hair and waved them away under the mother's grateful and pained gaze.
“Once a fire like this runs out of fuel, it will naturally go out.”
“But—”
The words caught in Mia's throat.
She wanted to ask, But how long will it burn? She wanted to say, But you've suffered so much injustice, and But you clearly did nothing wrong.
But all these words crowded her throat, unable to escape.
She knew that the Saintess, Lovene, was just this kind of person.
Indifferent to fame and fortune, calm and gentle, and so kind it was heartbreaking.
Lovene stood up, her body swaying slightly. But in the next second, Mia supported her waist and steadied her.
The little girl's mother quickly reached out to support her, but Lovene gently waved her off with a smile.
“I am fine,” she said.
She turned around, picked up a new bag of tea leaves from the table, and opened it.
Her movements were very slow, like those of a gravely ill patient. Mia bit her lip, a sudden urge to stop her rising in her chest, but it ultimately dissolved into a helpless sigh.
This bag of tea leaves was what the Saintess used to refresh herself. Otherwise, she should have rested long ago.
“Since we have done nothing wrong, we have no reason to fear these rumors.” Lovene brewed the tea and took a small sip. “It is best to simply ignore them.”
“Ignore them? They are tarnishing your reputation!”
“Reputation is but a fleeting thing.”
The Holy Light flared up. As she spoke, Lovene cured the little girl's cold.
The little girl's tears turned to laughter, and her mother hugged her, thanking Lovene profusely as they left.
Lovene stood by the table, watching them walk into the night before she spoke again. Her voice was even softer now, as if she were speaking to herself.
“There is no need to take it so seriously. For now, we should focus on curing the patients who still trust us.”
Standing behind her, Mia stared at her slender back, her fingers clenching unconsciously until her gaze drifted to the patients waiting in line in the alley.
They were few and far between, much fewer than before.
Suddenly, she realized that the rumors tarnishing the Saintess's reputation might not be entirely without merit.
At least...
...they kept her from overworking herself.
...
Not everyone believed Vera's words.
Wint was one of them. After finishing his shift at the docks, he heard the rumors. Putting down his lunchbox, he strode toward the slums without even changing his clothes.
“Where is the Saintess?” he asked a beggar on the roadside.
The beggar pointed toward a newly built, crude wooden shack deep in the alley.
Wint pushed the door open.
Lovene was sitting by the fire, a journal on her lap and a pen in her hand as she recorded something. Her face was pale and her breathing was somewhat shallow, but her expression was calm.
“Wint? What brings you here?” Lovene looked up, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight.
Standing at the doorway, Wint nearly burst into tears.
“My Lady Saintess, I... I heard those rumors. I didn't come here to ask for treatment. I just... I just wanted to say thank you. My Lady, you are the kindest Saintess I have ever seen.”
“The kindest Saintess? Well, how many Saintesses have you seen?”
A trace of playfulness seemed to flash in Lovene's eyes. Wint froze, lowering his head and pretending to count on his fingers as he stammered:
“One, two... uh, I've only ever seen you.”
Lovene burst into a soft laugh.
“Thank you, Wint. Go on back now. Your child is still waiting for you.”
Wint nodded vigorously and turned to leave.
After walking out, he stood at the entrance of the alley and shouted at the peering slum dwellers, “The Saintess is not a fraud! She cured my leg! If anyone talks trash again, I, Wint, will be the first to teach them a lesson!”
His voice echoed through the alley, like a stone thrown into a calm pool of water.
...
Vera had been in an excellent mood lately.
Business at her clinic had bounced back. Although some of the poor still refused to come, many of her old regular patients had returned. She had even raised her fees by twenty percent, and yet people were still lining up.
Standing behind the counter, she hummed a little tune while deftly preparing medicine for a patient.
“Physician, that Saintess is still in the slums,” a nurse whispered.
“Ignore her. Once she runs out of patients, she will naturally leave.”
Vera tossed the payment slip to the patient and said coldly, “The church people care about their reputation more than anything. Once she gets the cold shoulder there for a few days, she'll tuck her tail and leave on her own.”
She pushed up her glasses, the lenses reflecting a smug gleam.
“Trying to compete with me? She's still too green.”
The following night, Vera still couldn't resist. She took a nurse with her to the slums, wanting to see the current state of the church Saintess.
Just as she had expected, even within the slums, very few people still wanted her treatment. The long queues of the past were gone, leaving only a few bystanders watching from a distance.
She knew that many were waiting—waiting for something to go wrong with those cured by the Holy Light, waiting for the rumors to be proven true.
“Someone actually still dares to seek her treatment? They must have a death wish.”
Seeing a patient with a skin disease limping up to Lovene, Vera sneered and mocked.
“A death wish? Even if there is something wrong with that Holy Light, so what? We can barely survive as it is. An illusion of recovery at least gives us some peace of mind before we die.”
A poor man squatting in the corner of the wall spoke up, hugging his knees.
“But she has ulterior motives! Haven't you heard that she tried to harm the lord's daughter? Have you forgotten the kindness the lord showed you?”
“How could we forget? It was all thanks to Lord Marcus that we were allowed into the territory in the first place. But he is dead now! And we ended up as paupers precisely because he is no longer here!”
The poor man seemed to recall something and sighed softly.
“The Madame's prestige and governance cannot compare to the Lord's. Now that Lord Marcus is gone, those people have begun to bleed the populace dry. The slums are almost too crowded to live in...”
“Perhaps the Saintess is the only noble left who is willing to be kind to us.”
At the mention of the Saintess, a devout look appeared on his face. Though his stomach was empty at this moment, his spirit found solace.
Rate on N.U.
